Stand Again
by InevitablyEmotional
Summary: The attack on Praxus had been brutal, but it was a thing of the past, so no one had ever thought to bring it up again. After all, the Autobots already had enough to deal with. But, when an injured youngling appears at the Ark's doorstep, how will the Autobots deal with the painful memories his presence brings back? Why is it only now that he decided to set off this chain of events?
1. Prologue

**Title:** Stand Again

**Chapter(s):** 1/?

'**Verse(s):** AU; loosely based off of the Dreamwave G1 continuity (as according to Wikipedia…).

**Rating:** T

**Pairings:** **(Main)** Eventual Blue/? **(Minor)** Prowl/Jazz

**Warnings:** Brief mentions of violence and slash.

**Summary:** The attack on Praxus had been brutal, but it was a thing of the past, so no one had ever thought to bring it up again. After all, the Autobots already had enough to deal with. But when an injured mech literally appears at the Ark's doorstep, how will the Autobots deal with the painful memories his presence brings back? Why is it only now that he decided to set off this chain of events?

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, except for my OCs (_thanks to LogicIsTheUltimateWeapon for helping me with some names!_).

**A/N:** Most of my info about the fall of Praxus comes from TFwiki so please bear with me. *sweatdrop* Anyways, please enjoy! Constructive criticism is welcome, flames will be used to roast marshmallows.

**...**

"_Thoughts"_

**::comm. link::**

Beware of POV changes (it changes every time there's a break)!

**...**

Prologue

It was the dead of night when I'd been on my way to the recreation room to get my energon ration because my shift had just finished. Granted, it had officially finished hours ago, but I had some reports that had absolutely needed to be completed today. And, given that I wouldn't accept anything less than perfection, I'd continued working past the end of my shift to conclude them. My systems had alerted me once or twice about being low on energon, but I'd ignored them. I _have_ worked triple-shifts on less energon and recharge than this and I've been fine, so no worry or doubt had crossed my mind when I'd come to the decision of powering through my shift and into the night.

Grabbing an energon cube and filling it with the warm, pink liquid, I sighed in contentment. Taking a long sip and letting the energon roll around in my mouth, I savoured the taste, doorwings dipping into a relaxed position. I turned and saw one of the many couches lining the walls, and decided that sitting and watching some earth television couldn't hurt for just half an hour or so. The only mechs awake at this time were those on shift, so I wouldn't have to worry about my reputation as an emotionless, cold-sparked, glitch being ruined.

Giving a dry chuckle at the thought, I made my way to the couch and sat, doorwings draped over the arm and legs comfortably stretched out on the seat in front of me. Tilting my helm back slightly in thought while mindlessly surfing the channels on the TV, I went over my day.

It had been most like every other day at the _Ark_. Sideswipe had pulled two pranks (and was currently sleeping in the brig because of it), Ratchet had thrown a fit over Bumblebee, who had been knocked offline in a bad sparring accident with Mirage, Optimus and myself had gone over some backup security measures with a fidgety Red Alert, Sunstreaker had gotten into a fight with Tracks over who was the better looking mech – I just thanked Primus that both were unwilling to get into an actual fist fight, lest they wanted to mess up their finish – but none of those were the highlight of the day. Not even close. No, the best part of my day had come all bundled up in a package of another black and white that mirrored my own paint job.

Jazz.

I wouldn't consider myself sentimental, but it really had been the best part of my day. He'd come into my office, which, though not unusual, was a pleasant surprise. Carrying two cubes of energon and a stack of finished and unfinished reports, the smooth saboteur had plopped himself, rather ungracefully, into the seat in front of my desk and claimed that he'd rather much finish his reports in the presence of his best friend. I had shaken my helm in exasperation at the time and tried to convince him to return to his own office, but he was relentless.

It might not have been the most eventful time of the day, but, to borrow a phrase, simplicity is bliss.

And, though I'd never admit it to anyone if asked, I was slightly disappointed when my counterpart left.

Snapping myself from my thoughts, I finally settled on a channel hosting mostly documentaries of different subjects, and took a second sip of my forgotten energon cube. I liked relaxing, I really did. It's just that I always needed my processor to be occupied by something, work or otherwise. Why?

It kept my past demons at bay and away from my CPU.

An overwhelming feeling of sadness filled every part of my chassis at that, ghost aches and pains making my doorwings flinch. The only thing that kept me from crossing the threshold into oblivion was the familiar ache in my processor and the incessant pinging of my comm. link.

**::Prowl! It's an emergency!::** _Red Alert._

I grimaced, and not just because of the dull pounding ache in my helm.

I sighed. **::Yes, Red Alert, what is it?::**

** ::Decepticons! It's the 'Cons! I know it, Prowl, they-::** Abruptly, the link was cut off, leaving me slightly exasperated. If Decepticons were really attacking, the red and white SD would have pulled the alarms long ago. Something had to have been holding him back.

Sighing, and sitting ramrod straight on the edge of the couch, I let the current TV show become background noise as I comm.'d Optimus.

**::Prime? We have a situation.::**

The voice that answered me was tired, and I felt a sense of empathy for my leader as he sighed, **::Yes, Prowl. It's been noted.::** A brief pause, **::I'm currently here with Red Alert in the med bay.::**

I raised an optic ridge. Why would Prime be in the med bay? I winced, trying to quell the thousands of scenarios that ran rampant throughout my overtaxed battle computer, on the verge of glitching. Taking a moment, I then asked, **::Has something happened to Ratchet? Or one of the other soldiers?::**

This time the Prime's sigh was heard over the channel before he answered, **::I think you should come and have a look for yourself.::**

Perplexed, I stood and subspaced my gradually cooling energon cube. I frowned; regret filling the back of my mind.

Perhaps I really should have refueled and recharged right when my shift had ended. I have this horrible foreboding feeling that this "situation" will forbid me from doing so anytime soon.

**...**

When I first rebooted and woke from my forced stasis, the first thing that came out of my mouth was an endless stream of pleas. I was begging for _them_ to spare my life, and was in so much pain that I couldn't even recoil into myself as usual. My optics hadn't powered on correctly, and the blurry forms in front of me were moving too fast. Everything was too bright… and it hurt. Everything just _hurt_.

A gruff voice suddenly growled, "Primus fraggit! Help me hold him down before he hurts himself any more than he already is!"

I cried out at the proximity of the sound, and started shouting again and again for my creator.

"Creator!" I called, "Creator- help!" A strangled cry escaped me, "Help!"

I felt restraints close over my wrists and ankles, and sobbed. My doorwings were pinned under me at an awkward angle, but the soft berth underneath me merely molded to them instead of hurt them.

"Don't hurt me, _please!_" I sobbed, arching off the berth despite the strain in my ankle, wrist, and knee joints. I forced my optics to reboot despite my depleted systems that were starting to deem them unnecessary, and the first mech I laid eyes on filled me with a sudden relief.

_"Doorwings. Doorwinger. Good. Praxian. Praxus. Unharmed?"_ Confusion filled me at the almost-pristine looking black and white chassis, but that was at the back of my mind. _"Doorwings. Doorwinger. Safe. Help. Friend? Trust? Doorwinger. Safe."_

Apparently my jumbled thoughts were good enough for me, because words were once again spilling out of my lipplates before my sluggish CPU could even register them, "Please! Please, doorwings! Praxian! You! Black and white, oh primus, please help!"

In the back of my processor, I noticed that my fellow Praxian looked extremely uncomfortable before he made the few steps towards me. He lifted a hesitant servo and slowly placed it on the side of my helm. I whimpered, pressing into the touch. I wanted – no, _needed_ – the physical reassurance that everything was going to be okay. That nobot was going to hurt me.

His voice was soft, but calming and incredibly soothing as he comforted me, "Shh… everything will be alright. No one is going to hurt you here." I whimpered again, trembling.

A small sigh could be heard, before he placed his hand on my forearm, caressing it idly.

I couldn't tell how long it was before I'd finally calmed enough to talk to him coherently.

I still lay on the berth, but a red and white medic bot had taken off my restraints. I couldn't be more grateful for that.

The other black and white Praxian – who I learned was designated Prowl at one point or another – sat at the foot of my berth, and glanced at me. His optics were full of emotion. Confusion, sympathy, sadness, and another that I couldn't really place. It was intense.

He looked to me from under his chevron.

"What's your designation?"

I blinked, shifting slightly at the attention.

"Sharpshift."

He then smiled (the simple expression sending waves of reassurance through me), "Okay, Sharpshift." A brief pause as he mused. I internally braced myself, no doubt he'd begin asking me endless questions about myself and why I was here.

And to my surprise, this wasn't the case.

"Are you feeling better?" He murmured, his optics drifting to my chassis, worry making his optic ridges furrow.

I nodded, not trusting my vocalizer to work for me under the intensity of his stare. It was only then that I realized I was still shaking.

It seemed that he noticed my discomfort as he slid off the berth to face me. He took my servo in his and squeezed, before letting go.

He mumbled, "It is late now, Sharpshift. I understand you're still tired, so get some recharge. We'll get all of this sorted out in the morning."

I stared at him, transfixed. "I… I don't think I'll be able to recharge."

"Why? Is there something wrong with your systems?"

"No… it-it's just…" I looked at him, pleading for him to help me. "…nightmares."

He nodded, understanding, and smiled.

"I'll stay with you for the night then." My jaw dropped, and my systems stuttered in shock. "So recharge, hm?"

I nodded, smiling the brightest I have in so, so long.

"Yes!" I'd already initiated my recharge cycle, "Thank you… so much."

"You're welcome."

**...**

I watched as he fell into recharge in front of me, and sighed. Who'd he been begging to spare his life in the beginning? _'The Decepticons'_ were the best answer, as supplied by my battle computer. I frowned.

I turned to see Optimus looking at me, his attention now on me since Red Alert had headed off a while ago.

"So this… is the 'situation' you were telling me about, sir?" I asked, doorwings twitching.

He nodded, "We found him at the entrance of the _Ark_. Literally. He was disoriented and gravely injured, and we have no idea how he passed any of our proximity sensors. Imagine our surprise when we learned he was just a youngling as well."

I nodded, letting my battle computer take the information in and make sense of it. I glanced back at the mechling on the med berth.

"You know," Prime murmured, "he's around Bluestreak's age, isn't he?"

I looked at him in surprise at the mention of my adopted creation. Why was that relevant?

"Yes, sir. He is." It was saddening… to see one so young suffer so much. Though, the only indication that I felt anything even close to remorse was the slight droop of my doorwings.

"Prowl?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Get some rest. I'm sure Ratchet would happily let you recharge on one of the med berths here." There was some miniscule amount of teasing in his tone as he addressed the med bot at the other side of the room, "Right, Ratchet?"

He huffed, "Yes, yes. Just be glad that there's nobot else in the med bay right now or I'd be much rougher on you two." He smirked, "Now get on up a berth and recharge before I forcibly initiate the cycle."

I sent him a glare, but it lost any venomous effect at my amused chuckle.

"Yes, carrier."

A pause, before the med bot jumped off the counter he'd been sitting on and addressed Optimus.

"By Primus, if I didn't know any better, I'd say Prowl just made a joke."

A rumbling, baritone laugh resounded throughout the room, "Are you sure you're not just hallucinating, old friend?"

"Smartaft."

I chuckled to myself again as I sat on the med berth just beside Sharpshift's. I was just about to lay down when the mechling in front of me shifted onto his side, back facing me.

It was only then I noticed the doorwings.

"…"

I rebooted my optics.

Sharpshift's a Praxian?

Vaguely, I could feel my processor overheating and the aforementioned dull ache become a piercing pain, but my main focus remained on the twitching doorwings in front of me.

And just before my CPU shut down, I could just make out both Optimus calling my name and Ratchet cursing Cybertronian and English profanities.

**...**

Just as the black and white doorwinger hit the ground with a large 'crash', Optimus sighed. Slowly turning to Ratchet, he practically deflated under the glare that could peel paint off walls with its intensity alone.

The red and white growled, "Optimus."

"Yes, Ratchet?" Was the Autobot leader actually being – dare it be said – sheepish?

"You forgot to tell him that our new arrival was a Praxian, didn't you?"

"Well, in my defense, no one could have seen that comi-" _THWACK!_ "Ouch! Easy, Ratchet!"

A growl as the medibot waved his wrench in front of Prime's face, "Don't _'easy, Ratchet'_ me! _I_ don't have to take it easy! In fact, _you_ are going to let _me_ rant all I want because _I'm_ the one who's going to be fixing Prowl's _sorry aft!_ By Primus…" Ratchet continued muttering.

Optimus sighed. This was going to be a long night.

**...**

_**A/N: **__Should I continue?_


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter:** 2/?

**Rating:** T

**Pairings: (Main)** Blue/? **(Minor)** Prowl/Jazz

**Warnings:** Slash (if you squint).

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except for my OCs. Enjoy!

**A/N: **Anyone else wanna take their turn at bricking me? Yeah, been such a long time since I started this and promised to update, huh? Well, I've been having some serious family problems and it's taken its toll on me, but I'm back. Told myself I would update this before the new year, so enjoy! ^^

* * *

"_Thoughts"_

**::comm. link::**

...

**A/N #2:** I apologize to anyone whose review I haven't replied to from the last chapter (I've replied to every review up until life got up and kicked me in the face, then lost track). Won't happen again. So, just in case, thank you again to **NexusEternal, gillian of arenal, SunnySidesofBlue, kkcliffy, Starcee138, Phoenyx Starr, iNsAnE nO bAkA, and Stargazer at Moonlight.**

* * *

Chapter 1

Waking up from recharge the next morning, Sharpshift was surprised to find that, even though he was fully aware he was in completely foreign territory (that he hadn't deemed either safe or unsafe yet), last night's rest had been the best he'd gotten in so long. In fact, he couldn't remember a time in which he'd recharged so peacefully, without the fear of being offlined in his sleep, or the horrible sensation of jolting awake only to be greeted by the faceplates of sinister monsters. Perhaps because there was a doorwinger there that reminded him so much of his creator. Yes, life's hold on him had been cruel so far, but his first taste of freedom was sweet, and he wanted more.

But he brushed that thought off for now. In his state, it wouldn't do to be greedy.

Slowly, the youngling sat up on the medberth. He ached slightly because of his gradually healing wounds, but it was different somehow. Looking down at himself, the small one realized that it probably had something to do with the fact his healing wounds had been repaired properly for once. He made a mental note to thank the medic later.

Sharpshift flicked his doorwings and stretched his limbs to rid them of their nighttime sleepiness. His CPU was processing his thoughts far slower than usual due to low energon levels, so the full realization of being with the Autobots hit him later than he would have liked.

Autobots. He was with the Autobots.

Panic slowly settled itself in his mind and he was unable to push it back like usual. Sharpshift trembled. The real reason for why he had been at the Ark in the first place hit him full force, all other thoughts becoming background noise in his mind. He needed to see Optimus Prime, and he needed to see him _now_.

His once forgotten visor slid over his optics, and he lowered himself off the med berth. Prowl – the name was familiar, important, in the Autobot ranks… at least, he was if Sharpshift was remembering correctly – was on the other berth, and so he made an extra special effort to remain quiet. He had tip toed himself to the med bay doors and almost made it out when a gruff voice made him halt.

"And just where do you think you're going, youngling?"

On reflex, Sharpshift almost turned around to beg for forgiveness on his knees. _Almost._

Instead, he turned around slowly and caught sight of Ratchet. He was an older mech, but not too bad to look at. White and red paint adorned the bulkier body, accompanied with a grey chevron that was just as dark as the scowling expression underneath it. And yet, the youngling also found optics that were a safe, warm blue, completely wiping away any hint of fear he could have felt with this mech.

Idly, Sharpshift added him to his list of 'safe' mechs aboard the Ark.

"Well?" The other prompted again.

Sharpshift bowed politely, doorwings twitching with his apology.

"I apologize," He started, but cut himself off when he heard his voice. It had been ages since he'd been able to speak without static or spewing sparks rendering his speech. The medibot seemed to have noticed his surprise, because he merely nodded once and smiled tiredly.

"No need to apologize, Sharpshift," He gestured to the medberth the smaller had been previously occupying, "I see you've gotten your visor back in place."

The youngling nodded, and barely hid a wince as he trudged over and hoisted himself back up on the berth. There were no demands, _'Get back up on that berth, or so help me-'_ like he was used to, but the command was still there. He watched as the older mech grabbed a stool and plopped himself down at a comfortable distance.

"So, youngling… where exactly were you headed off to without telling anyone?" It was a careful question, and both were highly aware of that. The medic was suspicious, and the youngling couldn't blame him. Surely, he'd come to the possibility that the smaller was – maybe, could be, not likely, but possibly – a spy. Afterall, Sharpshift wasn't as young as everyone thought. And the other undoubtedly knew it.

Sharpshift twitched his doorwings once, anxious, before replying, "I need to speak with Optimus Prime as soon as possible, a-and… I just thought that perhaps I'd be able to find my way to his quarters or office if given the chance to look…" He trailed off, somewhat sheepish now in the face of – what was it that the soldiers back at home used to complain of – a rather, _irritable_, Autobot CMO.

The medic tensed slightly, asking, "Prime? I hope you know what you're implying, youngling." A pause, "Why would you need to talk with him?"

The smaller opened his mouth, "I need his help. My fa…" He trailed off.

The red and white raised an optic ridge, "Fa?"

Sharpshift's mouth opened, a small squeak escaping, before he closed it again. His vocalizer went silent, mute on the subject of his arrival. And not because of his wariness, either. He felt it physically impossible to speak of why he needed to talk to the leader of the Autobots. Confused and more than a little scared, he looked to the other, vocalizer locking up.

He felt the older take him in carefully: his posture, his sudden trembling, and the droop of his doorwings.

"Something wrong with your vocalizer?" Ratchet murmured, optic ridge raising, "Huh…" He dipped down and took a look at the strained neck cabling.

Sharpshift whimpered as the other's hands prodded and poked, before he found his voice again in a burst of static and sparks.

"Are you hungry? What are your energy levels?" The medibot stood taller, voice hard, as he changed the subject. Sharpshift could see the gears in his processor turning.

The smaller released an inaudible sigh of relief even in the wake of his discomfort, "Energy levels are reading at 40%."

A nod as the medic stood and headed over to a room on the other side of the med bay, "I'll go get you a cube." Idly, Sharpshift mused about following him, if only out of curiosity, but he had a feeling that the other wouldn't appreciate that.

A stirring on the med berth in front of him had Sharpshift waiting in anticipation. He had wanted to talk to Prowl again, if only to hear the smooth tenor of his voice that reminded him so much of his own sire.

The black and white sat up slowly, doorwings flicking up and down as he stretched much the same Sharpshift had done earlier. A grimace was evident on his faceplates, and the smaller wondered why.

"Prowl?" He queried softly.

The other raised his helm to look at him, a brief flash of confusion clear in his expression before he replaced it with a neutral, calming look.

"Sharpshift," A small smile adorned his face, "How are you feeling?"

"Good." He replied. It wasn't a lie. His chassis felt better than it had in ages, but his mind was a mess.

Seemingly satisfied with his answer, Prowl moved to sit upright much like himself. It seemed like he wanted to say more, but Ratchet returned just then, holding two cubes of bright pink liquid, and the recently awoken mech wisely shut his mouth.

A dark scowl made itself known on the medic's face as he shoved a cube of energon into Prowl's hands. Sharpshift would have been worried, but the concern in the doc bot's optics was enough to turn the would-be worry into amusement.

"Really, Prowl," The medic admonished, "How tired were you yesterday to not have noticed our new arrival was a Praxian?"

Sharpshift flinched slightly, and he didn't like the way Prowl's doorwings quivered slightly at that either.

Ratchet, however, didn't seem to notice, as he continued to scold, "Did you even have any energon yesterday?" He addressed the black and white as he went over to Sharpshift and gave him the other cube.

Sharpshift barely heard Prowl's almost-sheepish reply when the energon cube was placed in his lap. He wrapped his servos around it carefully; as if afraid it would disappear if touched. Why had he been given a whole cube? He merely stared at it, perplexed. Both of the older mechs noticed this, the older stopping in his rant.

"Sharpshift?" Prowl asked, and the youngling obligingly looked up at him, "Are you not hungry?"

"No…" The smaller replied meekly, "I _am_ hungry. It's just… I can have this all? Can I really have this whole cube?" He sounded so hopeful it was sparkbreaking.

The other two mechs seemed shocked, if not mildly disturbed, at that.

"O-Of course," Ratchet insisted after he'd recovered from the initial surprise of such a statement coming from the youngling, "I wouldn't have given you the whole thing if you weren't allowed to have it all."

A bright, brilliant smile graced the youngling's faceplates, "Th-Thank you!" And immediately, he took a long sip, rolling the liquid around in his mouth to savor the taste. It couldn't have been the best quality – of that Sharpshift was sure – but it had been the finest energon he'd ever tasted by far.

He'd been halfway through his energon cube when Prowl spoke up, "Sharpshift, I've assigned you temporary quarters until we can decide what to do about your situation." He smiled reassuringly, "And Optimus wishes to see you." The youngling nodded, spark contracting in his chest reluctantly, and vaguely wondering if the two mechs had been conversing over their comm. links about him, before shrugging it off.

He watched as Ratchet and Prowl shared a glance, exchanging a message he couldn't place, and he tilted his head in confusion, but otherwise didn't comment on it.

* * *

It was about midday when the leader of the Autobots had come into the med bay, and Sharpshift's jaw dropped, visor unable to hide his widening optics by glowing brighter.

The mech that stood before him was huge! Albeit shorter than the Decepticon Warlord – no single mech could be taller and more intimidating than him – but he came in pretty close.

Large, tall, and definitely attractive, Sharpshift had to force himself to close his jaw. Optimus Prime wasn't the handsomest mech he'd seen, no that award had to go to his own creator, but he was charismatic and beautiful in his own way. Blue, red, and other little splashes of colour drawn together by the storm grey colouring gave his plating a regal air almost, and the look in the mech's optics – warm, comforting, reassuring, not at all ruined by the cold hardness of war – made his intakes stutter. He so wanted to see the other's face…

Prowl, who had sat next to him at one point, nudged one of his doorwings with a black and white one. Sharpshift squeaked, lowering his doorwings to a more relaxed position from the tense, trembling one he'd subconsciously moved them to. His counterpart chuckled slightly, amused.

Sharpshift felt like he should be bowing, or something of the like at least, as the Prime made his way over. Would he be offended if he didn't? Fear washed over him, and his spark reacted again in its casing.

Thankfully, Prowl seemed to sense his unease, and dipped his head slightly at the larger mech (Sharpshift quickly did the same), "Prime."

"Greetings, Prowl. Feeling better?" Optimus chuckled, and Sharpshift's doorwings flapped slightly as they received the slight vibration of the pleasing baritone voice.

The black and white's doorwings fluttered sheepishly, but he replied with a curt 'Yes sir' all the same.

Then suddenly, those cobalt, blue, amazing optics were on him.

"Ah, Sharpshift, correct?" The Prime asked, hidden smile making his optics crinkle slightly.

A series of short, curt nods in rapid succession was his answer, and Sharpshift practically jerked when he heard the other laugh.

"Feeling better then, I presume?"

Sharpshift smiled shyly, visor glowing brighter in his bashfulness, "Y-Yes! Thank you!"

Optimus nodded, and then leaned against the mediberth across from them in a casual position. He probably noticed how Sharpshift was still rather tense – though the youngling didn't seem to notice himself – and settled for idle chatter. Or at least, that's what Sharpshift thought it was.

It was a good whole earth hour of Optimus, Ratchet, and Prowl conversing over the comm. links, unbeknownst to Sharpshift, until the Prime stood up, finished getting to know the smaller.

**::**We'll have to discuss this later, Prowl. Ratchet, dismissed,**::** The Prime's voice was harder in comparison to the soft tone he was using with the youngling, "Alright, Sharpshift. I understand that you still must be tired from all those wounds you had. Perhaps Prowl should show you to your quarters now."

Sharpshift – not about to question the other – beamed and walked with the Autobot SIC into the hallway and out of the med bay; happy he was able to just chat, worry-free, with the other. He didn't even feel the anxiousness that was building in the back of his CPU in regards to his forgotten mission.

Optimus was about to follow them when the med bay doors slammed in front of him, almost catching his face. He turned around and glared at an equally ticked off Ratchet.

The medic waved a wrench above his head and warned, "That youngling is hiding something. Told me he wanted to talk to you earlier – seemed urgent, and whether he didn't mention it now because he had forgotten or was unwilling to ask in front of Prowl and I, I don't know. But still – I want you to be careful around him. If you happen to ask him, and his vocalizer locks up, comm. me." The medibot was glowering, but Optimus could see the worry – and not just for the Prime himself – in his friend's optics.

"I… will be careful," Optimus promised, and with that, the doors slid back open and he walked out.

* * *

Prowl had shown Sharpshift the small room where he'd be allowed to stay, but the other couldn't bear to be in it for more than 10 minutes. He'd begged to be taken out of there, and Prowl's optical ridges had burrowed in frustration as he tried to think of a room large enough to keep the other's CPU in a stable state.

And so, against the SIC's better judgement, to the rec room they reluctantly went.

When they'd first stepped in, all the noise and chatter had died down, and the two Praxians made their quiet steps to one of the vacant tables in the corner. Sharpshift was undoubtedly _not_ tired anymore, but he didn't want to be the subject to the attentions of all these other 'bots either. He could feel their anxiousness at wanting to approach, but could also feel the reluctance to at the sight of their SIC.

This was _not_ a part of the mission! He was _supposed_ to be keeping a _low profile!_ His creator's reminder had rung true in his CPU, and Sharpshift gasped, standing abruptly.

_He'd forgotten about the mission! Optimus Prime had been right in front of him! For Primus' sake!_

He could see Prowl open his mouth to ask him if he was okay, when suddenly three shadows loomed over the both of them.

Sharpshift squeaked and fell back down into his chair as a hand landed on his shoulder. Old habits died hard, and he tensed, doorwings pulled back and servos flattened above his downcast helm.

"Whoops! Sorry, mech-OW! What was that for?!"

"Sideswipe, you moron!" A huff, "Practically scared the poor youngling to death!"

There was a snicker, "You tell 'im, Blue."

"Shut up, Sunny."

There was laughter in the room for just a brief moment, and the tension dissipated, everyone returning to their own activities… for the most part.

Three chairs were pulled up to the two Praxians' table, and Sharpshift was greeted with two grins and a neutral look.

The visored youngling pulled off a half-worried, half-shy look rather well.

Then Sharpshift noticed one of the newcomers had doorwings, and his own immediately raised and fluttered in greeting. He smiled internally as he got the same action in return.

"So," The new Praxian had grinned at Prowl, and got an answering smile, "Who's the cutie?"

Sharpshift flushed, and chuckles resounded around the table.

Prowl answered for him, "This is Sharpshift. He's… a new recruit. Rescued him from the Decepticons." The black and white's wings flinched minutely at the lie he made.

The red newcomer gaped, "There was a rescue mission last time we fought aboard the 'Con ship?!"

The SIC answered smoothly, "No, he found me while I'd been retreating. Ratchet's been hiding him in med bay since the battle last week."

The red one didn't seem satisfied, but the grey Praxian then chirped, "Anyways, Sharpshift, I'm Bluestreak! You can call me Blue, or 'Streak, but most mechs just call me Blue. That red-"

"Crimson! Not red! Sounds cooler!"

"-maniac over there is Sideswipe, and the yellow-"

"Golden."

"-_ego_maniac is his twin, Sunstreaker. For Primus' sake, mechs, let me finish a sentence without you interrupting!"

The crimson mec – er, Sideswipe – spoke up, "Aw, but it's so much fun."

Sunstreaker snorted, a smirk gracing his faceplates.

Sharpshift felt himself relaxing slightly as he talked to these mechs. Prowl almost seemed uncomfortable in the wake of the twins, the youngling could tell, and he wondered why. They seemed nice enough – or rather, Sideswipe did. Sunstreaker seemed kind of mean-

_Insecure, arrogant, possessive._ His processor helpfully supplied, _Weak points are left shoulder, transformation seam on right side, helm fins are sensitive. Would take approximately 6.48 seconds to deactivate if twin was not in room. Sideswip-_

"Stop," Sharpshift whispered, and the voice immediately obeyed, but didn't disappear. It just slithered back to its permanent home in the back of his CPU.

Then the youngling noticed 4 sets of optics were on him.

"Stop?" Bluestreak asked.

"Er…" Nervous fidgeting, "I-I mean… I think I'm tired… I'm ready to go back to my quarters and recharge, Prowl…"

The officer nodded, and he stood. Sharpshift with him, sparing a moment to wave back at the three new mechs he'd talked to, when he bumped into the black and white's back.

"Ow," He murmured, rubbing his nose, "Prowl?"

The black and white huffed, exasperated, "I apologize, Sharpshift. It seems Optimus wants to talk with me…urgently," He smiled reassuringly, "Perhaps you'd trust Bluestreak to escort you to your quarters?"

Reluctance filled Sharpshift's whole being – not an unfamiliar feeling – and he murmured, "Do you trust him…?"

Pride and amusement in the taller Praxian's optics, "I raised him as if he was my own."

The youngling then nodded, small smile on his faceplate as the slightly-taller grey mech was beckoned over.

* * *

"…so then I told Sides and Sunny that if they ever hurt Prowl again – accident or not – that I'd take my blaster and shove it up their tailpipes _so hard_ that – Sharpshift?"

The smaller Praxian grinned at Blue from where he lay on the berth, "Yes?"

"Sorry…" There was a murmur, and a sad smile, "I'm boring you, aren't I? I tend to do that a lot." A nervous chuckle followed the statement, and then trailed off uneasily.

Sharpshift sat up, furiously shaking his head, "No! No… I love the sound of your voice! I enjoyed it so much that I was starting to drift off for a second there. Please, by all means, talk as much as you want!" _The constant sound is much better than the suffocating silence of this room…_

Bluestreak grinned brightly, "Then… as I was saying I told them that I'd take my blaster and shove it up their tailpipes so hard that their…"

* * *

Prowl could not remember exactly a time when his Prime's office was as suffocating as it was now.

"Sir?" He asked, voice holding the same stoic-like tone as it always did.

The Prime sighed, and then looked at his second-in-command with a hard expression. Prowl braced himself.

"What are your thoughts on the youngling and his situation?"

Prowl said, "Well, sir, I haven't asked him as of yet about it. I believe that – taking his previous mental state into consideration – we should be slow with him. And to ease your worries, no, I am not off guard – haven't been since I first saw him struggling in the med bay."

The Prime internally smiled at his friend's impeccable intuition, "Yes, I agree, we should definitely all be on guard with this… _youngling_," It was hard to believe that that statement had just come from his mouth, "I believe you already understand the severity of this situation, Prowl… and undoubtedly know that Ratchet and I have been keeping something from you…" He was earned a raised optical ridge, "We believe that Sharpshift is hiding something."

Prowl nodded, not fazed in the least, "Oh, of that I have no doubt. I'd had my suspicions since Ratchet offered him an energon cube and he was surprised at being allowed to drink all of it. It's… disturbing, at the least."

Optimus nodded, "I agree. And for now, I am assigning you as his guardian. I don't want to use the term 'spying' in this case, but Prowl… keep an optic on him."

The other nodded, chuckling, "If need be, sir, I'm sure we can leave the _spying_ to Jazz." The two chuckled, despite the fact that the two already knew that the Prime was no-doubt going to have the TIC do just that.

"And I will inform Ironhide of this as well. Jazz and himself will need to take on _at least_ half of your workload from you so you can focus on the youngling… Poor mechs."

Prowl grinned at his superior's almost-snicker, "Indeed."

"Alright, Prowl, dismissed. Have a good night, friend."

The Praxian stood, showing no surprise even though he hadn't even realized how late it had gotten.

Head dipping respectably, he smiled, "Thank you, Optimus. Good night."

* * *

It was late into the night when Jazz was on monitor duty. He yawned, leaning back in his chair and throwing his feet upon the console. He grinned slightly when he remembered that just a few days ago Prowl had reprimanded him for doing so.

Ah, Prowl…

Red Alert suddenly walked into the room, and Jazz grinned unrepentantly at him even as the mech smacked his peds back down to the ground.

"Here t' switch off, Red?"

"Yes. So get going, you. Shoo." Jazz merely snickered at the other's disapproving frown.

He put his hands up in surrender, "A'right, I'm goin'."

He had one ped out the door when an audio-piercing scream rang throughout the base.

* * *

Until next chapter (which is definitely coming sooner now that I have my family problems under control)!

_Happy New Years!~_

-InevitablyEmotional


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